Til Kingdom Come
by absolute power
Summary: Alfred is a rebel against an oppressive government, seeking justice. Arthur is a sheltered royal, seeking freedom. When their paths cross, they get more than either of them ever bargained for. A dark fantasy AU.


**A/N: **So I promised myself I'd work on my dragon AU and my new Columbia/Britannia Angel fic for **White Mizerable **on the US/UK Love Post, but I was a bad girl once again and thought up this plot while listening to Disney songs. This is dedicated to **White Mizerable **and **hinatasakura **in honour of our creation of the epic Knight Manfred, Princess Iggy, and The Almighty Greatsword on the US/UK paint chat. 8D You guys are BRILLIANT. It was supposed to be a crackfic but I cannot WRITE crackfics, so here, have this strangely dark and political fantasy AU instead. XD

Anyway, I hope everyone enjoys this- I had a great time writing it, but it's my first time writing _anything _with such a complicated plot (as you'll see in later chapters) so please, if you could help me improve, I'd love you forever. :) Constructive criticism makes the world go round- after love, of course.

* * *

_Once upon a time, there was a kingdom with riches far beyond imagination, a kingdom so prosperous and peaceful that it earned the name of America the Beautiful. The rulers of the kingdom were a small family, only a king and queen and their much beloved son, the infant prince Alfred. They lived many happy days in their large stone castle, surrounded by their loyal subjects, and everything in America was as perfect as could be._

_They should have known that their idyllic lives would not last. It was the neighbouring Kingdom of Canada that first fell to the Allied Nordic Powers, and the rest of the Northern hemisphere soon followed._

_On the fourth day of the seventh month, year two-hundred and ten, the king and queen fled America the once beautiful, amidst roaring fires and the clash of swords. They knew they would be hunted and killed, so the terrified queen, with tears streaming down her face, handed her precious son to a trusted noble family who had escaped Canada, with a plea to raise him as their own._

_Alfred Jones grew up in the new Nordic-ruled kingdom of America, surrounded by poverty and oppression. He and his stepbrother Matthew Williams vowed to avenge the wrongs done to their people and trained to become warriors under the secret Order of the Eagle- a knight order that had struggled to survive the first Nordic attack and was now a ragtag band of freedom fighters from around the northern hemisphere. Alfred kept his royal blood a secret from everyone but his stepbrother, and went by a name that would soon gain admiration and respect from all peoples._

_Alfred may have changed his name to protect his true identity, but never once did he forget who he truly was- and thus begins our story._

_

* * *

_"Princess! Come down from there at once!" the guard called in desperation, shattering the early morning calm.

The Most Adored Princess Arthur of England, Pearl of the Oceans and Radiance of the Northern World, scowled most unbecomingly and held on tightly to the tree branch he was currently perched upon. "Not on your _life, _Richard," he snapped haughtily, settling himself more comfortably against the trunk.

The princess had been born and raised in the Nordic-run United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland, in keeping with the old tradition of the handsomest son being trained in the ways of a woman. Arthur, however, was nothing if not rebellious, and despised his pink gowns and dainty slippers with a passion that matched his infamous temper. His fashionable summer dress was in absolute tatters from his latest escapade in the castle grounds, which had involved two of the royal horses and numerous large trees. He knew he was going to have to be punished, but what was a few missed meals compared to this little taste of freedom?

Sighing, he looked out from the tree branch across the city behind the high castle walls, ignoring the commotion down below. He spared a second to be thankful the guards and most servants were forbidden from touching him, but then turned his mind to other things. He felt a frown tugging at his lips. The city of London was clean and beautiful, but his gaze drifted beyond that, to the dirty thatched cottages and rickety shacks of the outer villages. He could just barely make out tiny, ant-like figures of people in the distance, going about their daily lives in a disorganised, chaotic mess. He had never even set foot outside the castle, unless you counted the once-a-year thanksgiving festival in honour of the Nordic conquerors- but even then he was stuck in a carriage, draped with expensive silk veils to cover his face. Radiance of the Northern World indeed; he was pretty sure most people figured he was an ugly hag. He had no illusions as to what the commoners thought of their government.

The train of thought brought him to think of his betrothed. He had only passed the Prince of Denmark in the corridors perhaps twice or thrice; he couldn't even be bothered to remember the man's name, only that he was apparently a military tactician from the first invasion, albeit a particularly loud and brash one. Would he think Arthur was a hag? He fervently hoped so. Come his eighteenth birthday, which was quite soon, Arthur would be forced to marry the older man, contrary to the wishes of his mother.

He whispered a quick prayer to the gods under his breath- his mother, Igraine Kirkland, had been a beautiful English commoner, taken by the current king to be his wife against her will, though he had quickly gotten bored of her. When Arthur had been born a year after the invasion, she performed her duties in raising him as a princess excellently- but she told him stories every night, stories of the old days and the original gods and the life before. When she had protested Arthur's betrothal to the prince a little too vehemently, she had been executed and quickly replaced. Arthur had been nine years old. He had never forgiven the king, taking her surname as a pathetic act of rebellion. _Someday, _Arthur promised himself. _Someday I'll be strong enough to leave._

"Princess!" the guard shouted in frustration. Arthur felt a bit of pity- Richard was a particularly nice guard, but so far he hadn't offered anything that the princess deemed good enough to sway him. "Come down so you can change your clothes and get to breakfast before the king finds out!"

Well that was more like it. "Coming, Richard!"

* * *

Arthur sighed and stretched out his arms as he finished his music lessons. He had never liked his tutor; this one was stuffy and pretentious, always making a scene of how she had to bow her head to him and never meet his eyes or touch his skin. He felt like screaming to her that _everyone _was in the same situation as she was, thank you very much, but he didn't feel like skipping dinner.

Speaking of which, it was time to eat. Usually his brother would have called him by now-

"Hey Arthur!"

Talk of the devil. He hadn't escaped in time.

The Crown Prince Peter of Sealand, Keeper of the Seas and Protector of Nations, bounded into the room and swiped Arthur's hennin off his head, flailing the cone-shaped hat around like a sword. "We're gonna have dinner with Father soon, so have you finished up your girly music lessons?"

"Fix up your grammar, it's atrocious. Is it so hard to say _going to_, for crying out loud?" Arthur grumbled, reaching out to ruffle Peter's hair. "And it's nice to see you too, squirt."

"It's _never _nice to see you," Peter retorted, thrusting the tip of the hat back to jab at Arthur's stomach. "You're mean."

Peter had been only three years old when Igraine had been killed, and consequently was happier with their lifestyle than Arthur was, as he couldn't remember her very well. He and Arthur had a strange love-hate relationship as brothers, fighting one minute and ganging up on the servants the next. Arthur had tried to teach him everything he knew about the old days, which sadly wasn't nearly enough, but though Peter ate it all up, he considered them merely stories and tended to laugh at Arthur when he said he believed them. Peter was the king's favourite, though because he was only twelve years old he hadn't been formally presented at court, so he had yet to become very famous amongst the nobility. Arthur, on the other hand, was constantly in the spotlight, much to his consternation.

"So what was this about dinner?" Arthur questioned, taking the hennin back and fixing it onto his head, arranging the back veil to drape over his shoulders. "With Father?"

"Yup! He sent me to tell you to come over to the east dining room, and that you needn't change clothes anymore. Richard told me that Nora told him that we're having roast beef!" Peter said excitedly, dashing out of the room and to the dining hall.

Arthur followed at a much more sedate pace, mindful of the watchful eyes of the servants, and by the time he arrived at the hall the king was already there, imposing in his ceremonial military uniform, having just come from a meeting with the generals.

"You're late," he said sternly, and Arthur cast his eyes down, inwardly fuming. "You may sit."

Both he and Peter took their seats at the same time as the king, and servants started bringing in the food and pouring the beverages. Arthur made sure to hold himself perfectly straight, eating delicately and slowly, determined not to lend himself cause for criticism again. The roast beef was absolutely _divine_, and if it had been a regular dinner without the presence of his father, he would have helped himself to more.

The king cleared his throat. "General Väinamöinen sends his regards, princess. He says to tell you that he hopes you are well and that if you have not recovered from your illness from last week, he will bring over a remedy."

Arthur shuddered. General Väinamöinen was the sweetest man on earth, considerate and kind, but he had been one of the original conquerors of Britain and was the most feared of all high-ranking army officers. He was rarely ever seen without the company of General Oxenstierna, which led to much speculation and gossip in the court, and if it weren't for the looming presence of the intimidating man, General Väinamöinen's mild manners and good looks would have made the ladies flock to him. _Perhaps, _Arthur thought. _That is the whole point of their friendship._

"Princess, I am speaking to you," the king said sharply, and Arthur jerked his head back up from where it had been slumping.

"I apologise, Father," he said quickly, lowering his eyes. "I was lost in thought. It will not happen again."

"It had better not; it is most unbecoming. As I was saying, the Prince of Denmark has asked to see you tomorrow evening for a chaperoned dinner."

"What?" Arthur couldn't stop the exclamation. "He's coming?"

"Prince Søren is scheduled to arrive at six o'clock, but your meeting will be at eight. Richard will be your chaperone. I trust you will entertain the prince properly," the king said, looking at Arthur severely. "He is a very important guest."

"Yes, Father," Arthur replied automatically, inwardly wincing at the idea of meeting his betrothed before the wedding. He wanted nothing to do with the prince, thank you very much, but it couldn't be helped if what's-his-face requested a meeting. As a princess and a future bride, he had no way to refuse.

The dinner finished relatively quickly after that, with a minor incident involving Peter and an overturned plate, but the king brushed it off as "regular boyish mischief" and forgave him without much urging. Peter and Arthur were sent away as soon as the king finished his food, followed by their respective personal servants.

"Say, Robert," Arthur said conversationally as the eunuch opened the doors to his bedchambers. "Have you ever met the Prince of Denmark?"

Robert was a forty-year-old eunuch, the only servant allowed to touch the princess, on account of his having been emasculated for that very purpose eighteen years ago. Arthur never could tell what was going on in his mind, but probably wasn't very pleasant- for the rest of the royalty, at least. Robert seemed to have a soft spot for him, which was wonderful because he also served as a personal bodyguard, and Arthur didn't want to ever be on the receiving end of his fighting skills. "I have, your Radiance. He is a... good man."

"Really now," Arthur said dryly. "I was under the impression he was a reckless fool."

"He wields an axe very efficiently," Robert replied as if it were a redeeming feature- although knowing him, it probably was. "Your union will be most beneficial to the empire."

Arthur frowned as Robert stood behind him and undressed him with deft fingers, paying no heed to the brocade slipping down his shoulders. He sighed, however, when his corset was finally undone, giving him room to breathe. Arthur thought it quite sweet that despite being a eunuch and therefore no danger to him, Robert still averted his eyes. "Do you think I'll be happy with him, Robert? Do you think I'll love him?"

Robert laid a gentle hand on the back of Arthur's shoulder. "I think the princess has been reading too many fairy tales," he answered quietly, leading him to the bathroom.

They were quiet as Robert warmed up the water in the wooden tub, neither wanting to speak. Arthur sighed as he climbed in, the water flowing around him in relaxing patterns, letting his servant wash him with rose-scented soap- his favourite, the one Robert used when he knew Arthur was unhappy. Sweet-smelling liquid was poured over his hair and rubbed into his scalp, nearly getting into his eyes.

"I still think the prince is an idiot," Arthur said suddenly, breaking the silence, and behind him Robert laughed.

"That may be, but he was invaluable to the generals during the invasions. You should be quite honoured, princess."

"I don't care," Arthur declared as the suds were washed out of his hair. "He is loud and uncouth; one would think he was raised in a barn."

"We need to dry you now, princess," Robert said, stifling laughter as Arthur stood up, draping a towel over him and rubbing quickly. "And you really mustn't say such things about your fiancé."

Arthur frowned as Robert led him back to the dressing room. "I should be able to say what I like about him. We aren't yet married, after all; I don't want to miss my chance."

"It's still impolite," the eunuch said, standing behind him and reaching for a silk nightdress draped across a chair. "Lift your arms, please, your Radiance."

Arthur obeyed, raising his arms to have the nightdress fall like fluid onto his body. "Perhaps we will learn to get along."

"Only time will tell, princess. The both of you must make an effort." Robert brushed Arthur's hair with his fingers first to get the bigger knots out, before reaching for the comb. "I trust you will not torture him _too _much when you are finally married."

"Oh I won't do anything horrible," Arthur said airily, waving a hand and wincing when a particularly hard tangle snagged in the teeth of the comb. "Not like... littering roses on the marriage bed in an attempt to be romantic, while conveniently forgetting the thorns."

"I wouldn't be surprised if you did," Robert chuckled, putting the comb aside. "And you'd make him lie down on it first like a good wife would do, you little imp."

"Thank you, I try," Arthur said, smirking. His heart sank a little at the reminder of the... _marital duties_ he was expected to perform, but he tried not to show it too much. What was the point of being married? No matter what tradition dictated, he was a _man_, and if the prince wanted heirs he would need to take mistresses. "I feel quite tired today, so Robert-"

"Of course, highness. I will leave immediately. Please do not forget to shut your window. You know how to contact me if there is anything you need." Robert was suddenly professional, bowing low and backing out of the room to take his spot outside the door, and Arthur was left alone.

Sighing, he looked out at the rapidly darkening sky and shut the drapes, preferring to leave his window open. Robert would come in at the first sign of commotion anyway, and even if Richard replaced him for the night shift the door wouldn't be unguarded for long. Arthur stretched, feeling the satisfying way his spine popped before climbing under the soft, thick covers of his bed. He fell asleep almost immediately, tired from the events of the day and dreaming about the chaos he could cause tomorrow.

He would regret foregoing the lock on the window when he was woken up in the night, finding unfamiliar violet eyes behind clear spectacles looming over him, and three other black-clad figures surrounding his bed.

"What the-" he began, shocked, but was silenced by a hand slapping itself harshly over his mouth. Other hands were wrapping around his wrists and ankles, pinning him down against the bed.

One of the figures raised a sharp-smelling, dirty rag to his nose, and Arthur struggled wildly, unable to release himself from the hold, refusing to breathe. But soon his lungs were burning for air and he couldn't help himself; he inhaled deeply, choking on the sour scent that filled his nose and throat. His body felt light and his head was spinning, and an amused, French-accented voice reached his ears.

"Goodnight, princess."

The last thing he saw was a pair of blue eyes before he passed out completely.

* * *

It was dark in England, Alfred soon found out. The village was dreary and haphazardly put together, even more so than most of those in America, but it was the closest one to London that had a secret hideout that the sentries and patrols would never find. A handful of the Order of the Eagle was hidden in an underground cave beneath a house; the owner was the wife of one of their old members who had been killed in a raid, but she was still loyal to the Order and helped smuggle them in. Now, the 'knights' were waiting for the 'rogues' to return from their mission, and Alfred, their leader, was utterly _bored._

"Gil," he said watching the wax drip from the candle in front of him. "What time did Mattie say they'd be back?"

"Hell if I know," his best friend in the Order, Gilbert Beilschmidt, replied with an irritated groan. "He's _your _brother."

Alfred opened his mouth to shoot a retort but was interrupted by the sound of the trapdoor creaking and several bodies climbing down the ladder. "Mattie!" he exclaimed, standing up and making his way to the leader of the 'rogues'. "How was it?"

Matthew pulled off his mask and smiled tiredly at him. "See for yourself. Francis, if you please?"

"With pleasure, my dearest Matthew," Francis said, shoving someone straight into Alfred's chest. "Presenting the Most Adored Princess Arthur of England, Pearl of the Oceans and Radiance of the Northern World. Knocked out, but shouldn't be for much longer."

Alfred let out an 'oof' as the princess landed on him, and wrapped an arm around thin, silk-clad shoulders to steady them both. As if on cue, the princess' eyes fluttered open and Alfred caught himself looking into wide, startled emerald green.

"Oh my God," he found himself saying before he could stop himself. "Your eyebrows are _monstrous_."

He probably should have expected the slap, but it was surprisingly strong and echoed loudly in the cave. Alfred winced; he'd probably have a red mark for _days. _

"How _dare _you? Unhand me this instant!" the princess shouted in a deeper-than-expected voice, looking around in panic. "Where am I? Who are you?"

"Wait a minute," Alfred said dumbly. "You're a _man?_"

"Dude," Gilbert interrupted with an incredulous tone. "His name is _Arthur, _for fuck's sake."

"Who _are _you people?" Arthur repeated, backing up against the wall. "What do you want with me?"

"Ah, dear leader, I do not think there is any harm in telling him, _oui?_" Francis purred, sidling up to Alfred and slipping a sneaky hand around his waist. Alfred pushed it off, grudgingly remembering that it was exactly why Francis was such a good rogue in the first place.

"Hey, I don't think-" Matthew objected, but he was interrupted.

"Show him what your team's made of, leader," Gilbert said, sneering. "Let's watch him quake in his boots. Or not," he amended, looking down and seeing Arthur's bare feet.

"Alright then." Alfred grinned once he got over his shock. "Guys, you can come out now," he commanded, and smirked proudly at the look the princess gave him when his friends seemed to melt right out of the shadows. "Well, the ones who took you from the castle are Matthew, Francis, Toris, and Natalia. They're our stealth unit; we call them rogues. Here you've got Gilbert, Ludwig, Vash, Ivan-" he scowled a little at the name- "and Elizaveta. Them and I, we're the big fighters. The knights. And I'm the leader." His grin threatened to split his face in two. "You can call me Sir Manfred."

"And what exactly is your plan?" Arthur questioned cautiously, pressing himself further against the wall but glaring back defiantly.

"We're the Order of the Eagle- freedom fighters, rebels for a cause." Alfred smiled. "And you, princess, have just become our hostage."

Alfred didn't know what he expected, but it certainly wasn't an amused laugh. "Do you really think you can just waltz in and do this to me? I don't believe you have any _idea_ what you're dealing with."

"I don't know, all I see is a man in a pink dress," Alfred commented, earning himself a scowl from the princess.

"And all I see are a bunch of lunatics who think they can do anything," Arthur spat, stepping up close to Alfred until there was only an inch between them. "If you're really as good as you believe you are, _Sir Manfred_, you and your idiot parade will know that it is _suicide _to keep a royal against his will. I am absolutely certain you are being tracked right at this moment." He punctuated his words with a jab to the chest, looking a little disappointed when Alfred didn't move.

Alfred grinned. "Well then if that's the case..."

"What?" Arthur asked suspiciously.

"Mattie, get our transport ready! We're leaving!" Alfred called out, earning a yell of approval from the other members of the Order. "We've gotta be well away by dawn! It's a very special day!"

"Wait, what? What's so special about tomorrow?" Arthur shouted as he was grabbed by the arms, Natalia and Ivan holding him in a vise-grip.

"Tomorrow?" Alfred said with growing excitement. "Tomorrow is when we make our demands. And also, depending on their answers-" he put his face closer to Arthur's, loving the way the princess jerked back instinctively. He grinned. "Tomorrow is when we find out whether you live or die."

* * *

**A/N: **Well I hope you guys liked it- please leave a review! By the way, as far as I know, the tradition which Arthur became a victim of actually existed. The Kodiak North Americans practiced male concubinage, in which the mother selected the best-looking son and trained him completely in the ways of women. These boys, called Achnutschik or Schopans, were usually married off to older men by the time they were ten or fifteen. I believe they were regarded as acquisitions and status symbols. I kind-of-sort-of passed it off as a Nordic tradition which it really is not, so I'm sorry about that. XD Also don't take my word for it- if you're interested, please go and research for yourself, because my sources weren't all that reliable. :D And by the way, for those who'd like to see- here's a pic-by-pic lesson on the Evolution of Princess Iggy and Knight Manfred:

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http :/ /s61 .photobucket .com /albums /h53 /astronobish /USUK /?action =view ¤t; =pchat _capture7 .png

http :/ /s61 .photobucket .com /albums /h53 /astronobish /USUK /?action =view ¤t; =pchat _capture8 .png

http :/ /s61 .photobucket .com /albums /h53 /astronobish /USUK /?action =view ¤t; =pchat _capture9 .png

Credits to **Ellarose C **for the first Knight Alfred, **White Mizerable **for the first Manfred, **hinatasakura **for the non-stick-figure Princess Iggys. Iggies. Um. Yes. You get my point. XD The other things there were mostly inserted by me because I cannot draw to save my life. And yes, I apologise for all the weird comments and stick figures 8D They're my beloved brainchildren but I understand that sticks are not, ah, to everyone's taste. XD Please leave a review, and constructive criticism is VERY welcome! :) I'd love to know how I can improve!


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